"No, no," she said, clinging to me, "it is no longer Thor's hammer."
"It is the sign which shall be held dear here," said Phelim. "It is the sign that all good has come to this place."
"So may it be," said Gerda softly, and I thought that the reflection of the cross made a glimmering pathway from the hall to the ship which bore her homeward.
But I had no time to wonder how and why that sign was there, for now we were seen, and torches began to flicker along the wharf. Our pilots spoke to Asbiorn, and he passed the word for men to go forward with the shore warps, and the oar strokes slowed down. I thought I saw the broad gleam of light as the doors of the hall opened and closed again, and then a hail or two went back and forth from the shore and us. The oars were laid in and we were alongside the wharf, and quietly the rowers took their arms and sat in their places, waiting, as they had been bidden. There were not more than a score of men waiting us ashore, for it was supper time.
Then came a man from out of the town toward us, and by the time we were moored he was on the wharf opposite the stern. He had on helm and sword, but no mail, and his shield hung over his shoulder. The men made way for him, and in the torchlight I saw that he was gray-bearded and strong.
"It is Gorm the Steward," said Gerda to me, "He is my friend. Let me speak to him."
"Ho, shipmaster!" cried Gorm. "Welcome, if you come in friendship, as I suppose. Whence are you, and what would you?"
"Friends," said Asbiorn; "friends with a cargo some of you will be glad to see."
"Aye, aye," answered the steward. "You traders always say that. Well, that will wait for daylight. Meanwhile come up to the hall and sup."
Then his eyes lit on the silent, mail-clad men at the oar benches, and he started.